- We will send in 10–14 business days.
/images/books/10542497/9781501007897.jpg)
- Author: May Agnes Fleming
- Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
- Year: 2014
- Pages: 70
- ISBN-10: 1501007890
- ISBN-13: 9781501007897
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
Reviews
Description
The December night had closed in wet and wild around Thetford Towers. It stood down in the low ground, smothered in trees, a tall, gaunt, hoary pile of gray stone, all peaks, and gables and stacks of chimneys, and rook-infested turrets. A queer, massive, old house, built in the days of James the First, by Sir Hugo Thetford, the first baronet of the name, and as staunch and strong now as then. The December day had been overcast and gloomy, but the December night was stormy and wild. The wind worried and wailed through the tossing trees with whistling moans and shrieks that were desolately human, and made me think of the sobbing banshee of Irish legends. Far away the mighty voice of the stormy sea mingled its hoarse-bass, and the rain lashed the windows in long, slanting lines. A desolate night and a desolate scene without; more desolate still within, for on his bed, this tempestuous winter night, the last of the Thetford baronets lay dying.
The promotion ends in 
- Author: May Agnes Fleming
- Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
- Year: 2014
- Pages: 70
- ISBN-10: 1501007890
- ISBN-13: 9781501007897
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
- Language: English English
The December night had closed in wet and wild around Thetford Towers. It stood down in the low ground, smothered in trees, a tall, gaunt, hoary pile of gray stone, all peaks, and gables and stacks of chimneys, and rook-infested turrets. A queer, massive, old house, built in the days of James the First, by Sir Hugo Thetford, the first baronet of the name, and as staunch and strong now as then. The December day had been overcast and gloomy, but the December night was stormy and wild. The wind worried and wailed through the tossing trees with whistling moans and shrieks that were desolately human, and made me think of the sobbing banshee of Irish legends. Far away the mighty voice of the stormy sea mingled its hoarse-bass, and the rain lashed the windows in long, slanting lines. A desolate night and a desolate scene without; more desolate still within, for on his bed, this tempestuous winter night, the last of the Thetford baronets lay dying.
Reviews